The manifestation of sorrow adorns my head
It is my crown
The master jewel on my forehead
It's blackest over the dark
Two clear vials filled with blood
Hang at either side of my vision
Encrusted with diamond-like mold
They prevent me from straying
Changing my destiny
From this inevitable path of self-destruction
You could tell me at least
Why you put such a machine
Over my face
Crystal bowls over my ears
To catch the draining blood
Everything sparkles so brilliantly
Lips dressed up
Intricate patterns sewn right on
Because how I was wasn't acceptable
I was completely flawed
Now I am very pretty and completely privileged
Nevertheless, I am an ungrateful child
There's a metal strap on my throat
I throw my head back violently
Thrashing around fighting the urge to breathe
This machine corrects my error
Bringing my head back to its proper position
Oh, clever am I
At just the right moment
I slam my head downwards
The Sorrow Machine over-corrects my suicide attempt
My neck cracks, head hanging down
Beautiful lips intermingling with my breasts
Not another ounce of sorrow for your satisfaction
Every last breath failed
And it all will just evaporate
Author notes
My very special machine.
Written July 1st, 2004
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I don't know how ...
I wound up here as I didn't click on this intentionally. Sorry about that. I will send you the points if you tell me how much it was per click (as I imagine this was a featured poem).
it's not my kind of writing and I don't normally comment on this type at all.
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great
I liked the intricacy of this poem it's really sad but i like it a lot. -
very nice write, very discriptive, i agree with time, i love the anger and the expression, thanks for entering and good luck in the contest
manda
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One word...wow! Very good expression. I can feel the anger and saddness entertwining with eachother. The words flow so freely and yet everything is so perfectly in place. Great job.
"They prevent me from straying
Changing my destiny
From this inevitable path of self-destruction"
Is probably my favorate part. I've never heard scuicide described as self-destruction before...very creative, lovely. Beautiful write, keep up the exalent work. -
Whoa, very dark. Beautiful metaphor, I love the imagery of the jewels and the blood. The way you write is very evocative. Love it!
Cheers,
Ennie
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